While I'm Still Young and Horny 1/4
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Sometimes the ideas that came out of a sex-laden brain were really the best ideas ever. At least certain guitarists thought so. Maybe it was being back in America. Maybe it was because Pedicone had pulled his head out of the sand. Whatever it was, it most certainly was all Frank’s fault. And he was pretty damned proud of it.
[The Fine Art of Multi-tasking]
They finished the last song before the encores and filtered offstage, Frank taking off his soaked shirt before they’d even hit the dressing room and its beautiful pile of bottled water. Gerard made as if to go through the door, but Frank pulled him away by the arm, pushing him up against the wall by the door. The guys were talking about the set, the techs were resetting for the encore, and Frank only had eyes for Gerard, sweaty and glowing and half-hard and calmly confident, like he was after every show.
“Tell me I can fuck you tonight,” Frank muttered in his ear, and waited to see the fire flare in his eyes before continuing, “‘cause I want to push you down and make you fucking scream for me.”
“Yeah, Frankie, okay,” Gee grinned before looking around, listening to the distant chanting of the crowd. “Twist my arm, shit.”
“Good, now go sing already,” Frank smiled as Gerard nabbed another bottle of water and walked with him back to the wings, listening for the opening chords of ‘Cancer.’
It was way too long before they got back to the hotel, and they barely made it in the door before Frank was cursing at Gerard’s belt, pulling off his shoes, and practically tossing him on the nearest flat surface. Thankfully, it was the bed, but anything would have been fine, Frank would have figured that shit out. It took way too long to get rid of all the little pieces of clothing and find the lube, but by the time he did, he had his tongue down Gerard’s throat and two fingers in his ass, and they were both close to begging for it.
“Ready, fucking Christ, Frankie, need you.”
“Yeah?” Frank breathed, dashing off some lube and throwing the bottle across the room along with some socks, ignoring whatever he’d managed to knock over and possibly break in the process. He could barely remember to breathe, not with Gerard spread out, knees bent up, fucking up against him. “Been waiting, can’t, Gerard...” The syllables drew out as he slid in slow and hot and tight, and Gerard sighed, a sweet little sound like he was happy to be home after a long day. It made Frank’s throat tight, made him want more.
“The way you look at me, shit, the way you’ve been looking at me all night,” Gerard gasped out as Frank started to move, his hand drifting down to his cock. Frank caught it, caught Gerard’s other hand, and pinned him down by the wrists. He watched Gerard’s face heat up a little more, go a little more desperate, with every shallow stroke.
“No,” Frank said, by way of explanation, and deepened his thrusts until they were both moaning.
“Frankie, please, c’mon,” Gerard begged, ragged and brittle around the edges, and so beautiful with it that Frank ached. He fought against Frank’s hold on his wrists. “Close, fuckin’ touch me, god, please, please.”
“Nuh-uh. You’re gonna come for me just like this.” Frank tightened his fingers. “Know you can, wanna see it, wanna see you come on my cock.”
Gerard just shook his head, biting his lip, arms starting to shake a little.
“Yeah, you can. You’re gonna, for me.” Okay, Frank wasn’t as certain as he sounded, but it was going to be a fun ride either way.
“Hate you, fuckin’ hate what you do to me, drive me crazy,” and the words were different, but his tone was the same as when they screwed slow and sweet and made softer pleas and promises.
“I dunno, Gee, what about last month? I think you liked that pretty well,” Frank gasped, still teasing.
“Shit, Frankie, not fair,” Gerard panted, “You should have seen you.”
“You want to do it again? Wanna try gettin’ covered, like me? More?” Gerard practically squeaked, and Frank knew he had him. “We could tie you up and take turns, fuck you ‘till you’re raw and open. Covered in come. Leaking with it,” Frank pushed.
Gerard swore, his eyes drawing tightly shut. “Frankie...”
“I bet Mike would help, too. We could just keep going around until we were done, just come in you, on you, until we were fucking dry and you couldn’t see straight-- Gee, fuck, so good--” Frank pinned him hard, gave him that little bit extra and came with him over the edge, crying out together, loud and guttural.
Gerard took a minute to breathe, slowly falling away from Frank. “You cheating, cheating asshole,” he muttered, sloppy kisses to Frank’s shoulder at war with his words.
“I know,” Frank tried to sound apologetic and failed, kissing Gerard with a smile. “So. Want me to ask him?”
“Ask who?”
“Mike.”
“What! Yes. No. What!” Gerard’s brain seemed to catch up, finally. “No! Shit, Frankie. Does he even know we’re fucking?”
“Everybody knows we’re fucking, Gee.”
“No, I mean, the band.” Gerard waved his hands like he was trying to explain existentialism to a three-year-old.
“I don’t know. I mean, he could be blind and deaf,” Frank mused, kissing down Gerard’s neck. “I haven’t tweeted about it, but for all I know he’s in the betting pool somewhere.”
“You are not tweeting about it.” Gerard sounded mortified.
“The first rule of Fight Club?”
“Exactly. The third rule should be no using cheating, torture, or pillow talk to plan actual events, you asshole, but you probably threw that one out the window a long time ago.”
“Aww, Gee. You never let me have any fun,” Frank whined, brain going somewhere else entirely. He could probably arrange another orgy; hell, he’d been waiting ever since London to do that shit again. But to center it around Gee, and get Mike to join in...
“This wasn’t fun?” Gerard interrupted Frank’s planning and turned on full puppy-dog eyes, and Frank wasn’t sure whether to crack up or not. He managed to keep a straight face.
“No.” Gerard’s eyes widened, and for a moment he looked like the most horrified puppy in the world. “Baby. Fun was somewhere far, far behind that shit. Fun is in the dust.” Frank watched the relief and annoyance spread over Gerard’s face. All the way down to his arms. And his fingers. Shit. “Ow! Ow, ow, uncle, ow, please let go of my balls, fuck, leggo, mercy, ow.”
[The Angel in Question]
The phone rang. The room phone. Why the room phone was ringing, Mikey wasn’t sure. It was eight o’clock in the goddamn morning.
His asshole brother picked it up. “Gerard,” Mikey growled, and pulled the pillow over his head.
Eventually, Gerard’s weight settled back where it had been, and Mikey’s pillow got pulled away.
“Frank and Mike are going out to tour a brewery and try on cheese hats, or something.”
“Okay.” Mikey waited for news of the orphanage-and-puppy-rescue fire tornado that had better be the actual reason he was awake.
“Do you want to go?”
“No. I want to sleep. That’s why I turned my phone off.”
“I think Frankie confused us with. With people who wake up in the morning. For stupid shit.” Gerard grumbled, putting his cold nose into Mikey’s armpit.
“Why are you cold?”
“You took the covers.” Gerard sounded adorably miserable.
“You answered the phone. It was a clear forfeiture of blanket rights. C’mere,” Mikey said, throwing the comforter over both of them. They got another hour of sleep like that, tangled in each other and drooling, before Gerard moved out of bed, made some noise, and came back. “It is nine fucking thirty. We don’t have to be on the bus until two. What is wrong with you.”
“Same as always.” Gerard shrugged.
“You’re a freak.” Mikey guessed flatly.
“Close enough.”
Mikey considered. “Is that coffee?”
“Brewing. Wanna shower with me?” Gerard waited. Mikey stared, then grabbed at Gerard’s ear. “Ow, ow, the fuck.”
“Just looking for your secret freckle. Okay, you’re not pod-grown. Now, say that shit again?”
Gerard sighed and rolled his eyes. “Nothing. Nevermind.”
Mikey grinned, poking Gerard’s ear. “Frank’s been on a campaign to addict you to shower sex, and now he’s gone, huh.”
“No!” Gerard rolled away, punching a pillow sulkily. “Not necessarily.”
“Okay, I’m coming,” Mikey sighed, pushing away the covers. “But I don’t have any weird soap.”
“Frank keeps accidentally leaving his in my bag.” Gerard sounded defeated.
“Accidentally, sure.” Mikey stretched, idly scratching his balls, wondering why nobody had made coffee-flavored toothpaste. Mint was a terrible flavor to go with coffee. Shit, it was early.
The bed squeaked. Gee groaned and went to poke at the coffeemaker, bringing back a cup of something that might have resembled coffee in a past life. Mikey winced. He gave Gerard an eyebrow.
“Real coffee from room service as soon as there’s pants.” He disappeared and the shower kicked on. Mikey took a few gulps of coffee. Not as bad as it looked - Gerard must have used both filter packs. Smart. He finished the cup and ducked into the bathroom. Gerard hadn’t stepped in yet. He was just standing there, looking at the shower curtain, drinking another cup of coffee. It was pathetic. Mikey picked up his mug and set it on the bathroom counter, kissing his shoulder.
“Alright. I’m getting in the shower, and you’re following me.” He drew back the curtain, stepped in, and held out his hand. “C’mon, you wanted this.”
“Changed my mind,” Gee complained, but followed him into the bathtub anyway. Mikey grinned, popped open Frank’s soap, and started washing last night’s show off both of them.
“How do you even get this filthy?” Mikey mused, nudging Gerard under the water.
“Talent,” he replied, washing his face and grimacing. He rinsed, and Mikey stepped closer behind him, washing lower.
“Is being this hard in the morning talent, too, or has Frank just classically conditioned you to have this sort of response to his soap?” Mikey grinned and bit the back of Gerard’s neck, slippery hands lathering teasingly.
Gerard’s cock jerked in his grip. “Uhm. Both? Could be both.”
“Uh-huh. C’mere,” Mikey encouraged, and tugged on Gerard’s shoulder. He turned, and Mikey kissed him, tasting coffee and warm water from the shower. Gerard put a hand on the soap dish to steady himself, and sank down to his knees, looking up. Mikey was beginning to see what Frank liked about this, because Gerard looked gorgeous wet. The water beaded on his shoulders and made him glow, got in his eyelashes and made them look even darker and longer. Gerard’s mouth was always endlessly distracting, but especially when it was around Mikey’s dick. Mikey hadn’t been all the way hard yet, but Gerard sucked until Mikey filled his mouth and hand. “Mmm. Morning,” Mikey groaned, content.
Gerard pulled off, smacking his lips. “Morning.” He smiled and tugged at Mikey’s ankle until Mikey lifted his foot, and Gerard put it on the bathtub ledge. “Yeah.”
Mikey sighed when he got Gerard’s mouth back, and felt his fingers tucked warm behind his balls. He brushed a strand of hair out of Gerard’s eyes, gasping as Gerard swallowed him down further and pressed a fingertip inside him. It wasn’t long until Mikey was gasping and cursing, putting an arm against the tile to steady himself, and Gerard was looking up again, replacing his mouth with his hand.
“What do you want, Mikey?” Gerard asked, low and only just loud enough to hear over the shower, and Mikey’s brain fused, because he knew Gerard meant it. He could ask for anything.
“I want... fuck.” Mikey bit off, trying to breathe, working at the idea of wanting to do anything besides fuck Gerard’s fist and come staring at the open hunger written on his face, raw and predatory. He casted about for the dozen thoughts he’d had before seeing his brother on his knees, finally seizing on one that had come up a few times. “I want you to bend me over this counter, so I can see us in the mirror.” Mikey realized that he wanted it even more now that he’d heard it out loud.
Gerard bit his lip. “Fuck, yeah.” Gerard stood, turning off the water, and got them both towels. Mikey busied himself with drying off, and Gerard finished his mug of coffee and disappeared for a minute, and by the time Mikey had hung up his towel, he was back, holding a bottle of lube and smiling roguishly. He was clean and awake, seconds away from fucking Mikey and they had at least three hours before they had to go anywhere. Mikey smiled, too.
He stole the lube out of Gerard’s hand before he had a chance to register what was going on, and kissed up Gerard’s jaw. It was good enough, as distractions go, and Mikey managed to get the lube open and onto his fingers without having to bite Gerard’s neck too hard. Good. He hated leaving hickeys on tour, although Gee always seemed to enjoy picking out the most ridiculous “camouflage” for them he could find. Paint, feather boas, sharpie. Freak. Mikey grinned and leaned up to kiss him, pressing his lips into soft swollen ones, and reached back, fingering himself deep until he was moaning into the kiss, and Gerard broke off to look. Then his face changed, and Mikey smiled, a thrill of victory chasing through his belly. That was the best face. Confusion melting into blank shock, then hot lust, all in a second. It always made Mikey shiver when he managed that kind of reaction, and he did now, biting his lip to keep from moaning.
“God. Mikey. You should see you.” Gerard’s eyes were dark, heated.
“Yeah?” Mikey curved his fingers, biting off a gasp, teasing Gerard with his pleasure.
“Yeah. Look.”
Mikey turned to look in the mirror, still steamed up at the top, and there were Gerard’s eyes, focused on Mikey’s reflection. Hard lines of pale skin, flushed with pleasure. Head tilted back, back arched, fingers angled deep and thumb braced against the curve of his own ass. Mikey had to admit he looked pretty good, and made a faint noise of surprised approval. Gerard’s eyes flashed. His gaze never leaving the mirror, Gee wrapped his hand around Mikey’s wrist and pressed, encouraging him to fuck himself a little harder, and Mikey moaned.
“Look so damn good for me,” Gerard sighed, mouthing Mikey’s neck, letting go of his wrist in favor of grabbing onto his hips. Mikey took the hint, sliding off his fingers. He grabbed the lube, getting some into his palm and working it onto Gerard’s cock. Gerard turned them both until he had Mikey bent over the counter, both of them grinning wolfishly into the mirror.
“C’mon,” Mikey wiggled, propping himself up on folded arms.
“Impatient, god. Couldn’t even wait for me to open you up,” Gerard murmured, but sounded pleased as he slid his cock against Mikey’s ass.
“That a problem?” Mikey challenged, giving their reflections a devious look as he lifted his hips.
“No problem here,” Gerard shook his head at the mirror, and looked away briefly, guiding his cock into Mikey’s tight heat with teasing nudges before he paused, about halfway in. Mikey reminded himself not to close his eyes, not to lose himself in the stretched-full pleasure that skated up his spine. It was worth it, to see Gerard with his head thrown back, jaw gone loose in a soundless gasp. Mikey had done that, made him look like that, overwhelmed him. It felt good to see, and Mikey’s cock jumped a little against his belly.
Gerard’s hands tightened on Mikey’s waist, and his eyes opened again as he slid the rest of the way in. They both groaned, and Gee gave a smile, stilling for just an instant before moving again, the slow hot drag of his cock against Mikey’s prostate making him see stars.
“Aw, fuck,” Mikey panted, pushing back against Gerard on the next stroke, encouraging.
“Yeah,” Gee sighed, voice low and filthy. His hair was still a little wet, he had a tiny shade of stubble, and Mikey would never say it out loud, but he looked like an angel, quietly rapturous and so beautiful it hurt. For the briefest second, Mikey was afraid he had said it out loud, because Gerard’s eyes snapped to his in the mirror, but Gee just kept smiling.
“Do you always look this smug when you’re fucking me?” Mikey teased, an edge of suspicion in his voice.
“Maybe,” Gerard bit his lip and sped up a little, the quiet slap of flesh-on-flesh bouncing off the tiled walls. He lifted his chin at the mirror, leaning in to grab Mikey’s dick. “Do we always look this good?”
“Fuckin’ hot,” Mikey moaned helplessly, watching Gerard lick his lips. “Wanna see us come.” Gerard fell into a good rhythm, fucking deep into Mikey and jerking him with a tight hand, and Mikey was abruptly certain that it wouldn’t be long, he couldn’t hold off. He could feel it making his mouth water, his eyes squeeze shut, and his fingers close tight over his forearms.
His awareness snapped back into place when Gerard let go of Mikey’s waist with his other hand, and firmly pulled Mikey’s hair into his fist, tilting his head back.
“Keep your eyes open,” Gerard said, a rusty voice over panting breaths. Mikey’s spine was bowed, his thighs shook with need, and Gerard’s eyes drilled into him. Mikey needed just a little more, just a little harder, just a little something, he was so goddamn close. He couldn’t find the words, just a breathless whine, pleading with his eyes, and that was enough. Gerard slammed into him hard, coming with a grunt that could have been Mikey’s name, and Mikey shot his load under the sink with a cry. He just managed to keep his eyes open to a blurry, white-at-the-edges vision of his brother with a crimson halo, breathing curses like prayers.
The angel in question slumped on Mikey like a ton of bricks.
“Nnngh.”
“Mmm,” Mikey replied. He gave it a few moments, then milked Gerard’s softening cock inside him, grinning as he got a muffled squawk in response. He squeezed again. “Guess what.”
“What.”
“There’s a bed.”
“You’re shittin’ me,” Gee said dryly, still not moving.
“If you don’t believe that one, you’re gonna love this one,” Mikey said, wiggling until Gerard moved.
“Mmm?” Gerard picked up a washcloth, threw it at the sink, turned on a tap.
“We can sleep like two more hours.” Mikey grabbed the cloth, wrung it out, cleaned them off.
“Fuck. That’s the second-hottest thing you’ve said all morning,” Gerard said, tossing the washcloth back in the sink and turning off the bathroom light.
“Do I even want to know? If you say the pod-grown thing, we’re never having sex again,” Mikey grumbled, shoving Gerard back towards the bed.
“I dunno,” Gerard said airily, pretending to consider. “You really think I look like an angel, Mikes?” Gerard grinned cheekily.
“I did not,” Mikey groaned in disbelief, flopping on the bed and planting his face in a pillow.
“You so did!”
“Never. Having sex. Again.” Mikey reminded, trying to look serious while Gerard pulled him in to spoon.
“Hmm. I doubt you’ll be able to resist my charm.” Gerard kissed behind Mikey’s ear.
“G’head, test that theory.” Mikey pulled Gee’s arm up to his chest, cuddled like it was a teddy bear. “Schmuck.”
“Angel,” Gerard corrected, and they slept.
[Drummers Need Love Too]
“Frankie?” Pedicone didn’t mean to make it a question, not with the way Frank had him pinned against the hotel room door. He knew what the fuck was up, especially with Frank’s denim covered hard-on pushing into his hip.
“Hi,” Frank chirped, grinning like a motherfucker, eyes dark.
“I thought when you said we were gonna play video games, I’d heard the innuendo correctly,” Mike mused, grinding back.
“Well, video games are still on the menu,” Frank smirked, “but first,” his voice trailed off as he started to reach for the zipper of Pedicone’s jeans.
“How ‘bout a little less in the hallway?” Pedicone asked. Hell, he’d go naked on stage, but his mom would kick his ass if he got caught having sex in a hallway of a hotel in front of God and everybody.
“Aw, gonna be all shy, Mike?” Frank teased.
“Call me shy again and I won’t suck your dick,” Pedicone said seriously. “I’ve just got some standards, you little shit.”
“Right,” Frank winked, but he opened the door even as he started climbing on Mike and let Pedicone half-drag, half-carry him into the room, leaving a trail of clothes in their wake.
Mike practically tossed Frank onto the nearest bed and Frankie giggled, watching appreciatively as Pedicone slid off his pants and underwear and climbed onto the bed, stealing a kiss.
He broke off the kiss and started licking his way down Frank’s chest, stopping to tease a nipple with his teeth. Frank squirmed and started talking shit.
“Mike,” he moaned, “Shit.” Mike tweaked Frank’s other nipple with his fingers.
“Hmmm?” Pedicone hummed.
“Not that,” Frank panted, “I don’t apprec-hnn- appreciate what you’re doing.”
Mike sucked a sweet little bruise on Frank’s side, kissing the skin afterward.
“Oh. Fuck.” Frank moaned. “But.”
Pedicone sucked a matching hickey on the other side.
“Sh-it,” Frank panted, hips bucking. “Not that I’m not enjoying myself. But, you could suck my cock, anytime.”
Pedicone glanced up at Frank, and then at Frank’s hard, leaking dick, his hands resting on Frank’s belly, and said helpfully, “Oh, this cock, here?”
“Oh, you shithead,” Frank muttered, trying to wiggle closer to Mike’s hands, but Mike held him still. “Yes, you asshole. That cock.”
“You know, Frank,” Pedicone said conversationally.
“Asshole,” Frank answered, catching on to where Mike was going with this.
“You’re being kind of a little shit to the person you want to suck your cock,” Mike shrugged, tweaking a nipple.
“Mike,” Frank whined.
“What do you say, Frankie?” Pedicone asked, smiling fiendishly.
“Motherfucker, please,” Frank gasped as Mike’s fingers brushed against his cock and lightly, teasingly began to stroke.
“Please what?” Pedicone asked, smearing precome with his thumb.
“Mike,” Frank gasped.
“Say it,” Pedicone said placidly.
“Aw, hell. Please suck my cock, you incredible goddamn asshole,” Frank groaned, hips bucking as Pedicone teased Frank’s balls.
“Well, since you asked,” Pedicone smirked and then licked down Frank’s cock, tongue teasing the underside.
“Oh fuck fuck fuck, shit, fuck,” Frank babbled, trying to thrust up, his hand on the top of Mike’s head, clinging. “Mike. Jesus. Your mouth. Oh. Shit.”
Pedicone held Frank down as he swallowed down the base and back up. He sucked, tongue teasing the slit and the vein until Frank was a mess of fucked-out babbling and gasps.
“Nnnnngg, Shit, fuck fuck fuck,” Frank moaned, desperate. “Oh God. So good. Cl-close.”
Mike pulled off and Frank squawked.
“What are you even doing? I want that back,” Frank groaned. “Fuck you. Evil. Asshole.”
“Well, you’re just gonna have to wait, aren’tcha,” Pedicone said, enjoying himself immensely. “Turn over and up.”
“Teasing asshole,” Frank muttered, but he was grinning and obeyed. He waggled his ass at Mike.
“You’re so fuckin’ mouthy,” Pedicone tsked, voice low and filthy.
“That’s Ray’s complaint, usually,” Frank snarked.
“I bet he likes you like this too, huh?” Pedicone asked, spreading Frank with his thumbs. Frank stilled as Mike’s fingers teased, close to Frank’s asshole. “All spread out and eager with your pink, pretty little hole?”
“Mike,” Frank’s breath caught. Maybe he wasn’t used to being this objectified. Pedicone was absurdly proud of knocking him off his game. “What.”
Before Frank could finish the question, Pedicone leaned in and licked all the way down Frank’s crack, stopping at the tight hole, teasing with the tip of his tongue.
“Oh! Oh Jesus,” Frank moaned, spouting a string of curses that trailed off into moans as Pedicone pressed his tongue flat and wet against the heat of delicate skin. He felt Frank twitch against his mouth and traced circles, enjoying what it was like to get Frank past the point of speech. He opened Frank up with his tongue, swirling inside, stretching, taking his time to drive Frank insane.
By the sound of it, it was working. “Mike,” Frank keened, moaning, fists mangling the sheets. “Fuck. Fuck me. Shit. Christ. Mike. Fuck me. Come on.”
Mike hummed twice, a muffled “uh-uh,” and kept licking, fucking Frank with his tongue, opening him up wet and messy and hot.
“Mike,” Frank panted. “Please.” Frank’s voice broke, drawing the word into two syllables. It was a nice sound. Mike hummed, again, feeling smug, and pressed one last kiss to Frank’s hole, relaxed and fluttering under his lips, then pulled back so he could reach the lube out of his bag.
“Jesusfuck,” Frank groaned, resting on his elbows a minute, ass still in the air.
“Yeah, I liked that too,” Pedicone said, uncapping the lube and slicking his fingers and sighed appreciatively at the slide of the first finger, quickly adding a second. “Fuck, you make the best noises.”
“Amazing asshole,” Frank muttered, pushing back against his fingers. “More. Hurry. Fuck, now.”
“Impatient little fucker,” Pedicone retorted, twisting and tucking in a third finger, getting a groan when he hit Frank just right.
“Damn right,” Frank moaned. “C’mon.”
“Well, alright,” Pedicone purred, removing his hand, lubing up his cock and pushing in in one slow, deliberate movement. “Hot and tight for me, Frankie. I love seeing you like this, all fucked out from my mouth and beggin’ for it.”
Pedicone slid out and back in, appreciating the glide and Frank rocked back, moaning. He started building a rhythm and Frank moaned louder. He reached around and jacked Frank’s cock in time with his thrusts. Frank was just a mess of babbling curses, shouting Mike’s name as he came all over Mike’s hand.
Mike just lasted a few more thrusts before he came. He couldn’t last with Frank clenching around him. He slumped half on Frank and half propped on an arm. He slid out with a hiss and Frank collapsed in a smiling heap onto the bed.
“I guess that means I get the washcloth,” Pedicone said, wondering if he could stand yet.
“Yep, the teasing asshole gets the washcloth,” Frank confirmed.
“Spoken like someone who’d know,” Pedicone observed and pulled himself up, obediently getting something to clean them both up. Should’ve just used a sheet. Oh, well.
Less sticky, they ended up spooning, mostly under the sheet on Pedicone’s bed.
“So,” Frank started, and how he still could manage thought after that, Pedicone had no idea. But that was Frankie. Frankie was inexplicable. Always seven different directions at once. Climbing shit he shouldn’t, fucking with people’s drums. Generally being an adorable little asshole. Post-coital verbalization really shouldn’t surprise Pedicone by now.
“So?” Pedicone asked, too blissed-out to care what could possibly come out of Frankie’s mouth. Hell, Frank could ask him to put on a cheese head again and he’d do that, no problem. Along with any number of other completely random things, in a heartbeat. It was part of their best friend code, which included the wearing of stupid hats, nearly missing bus call, and the occasional really filthy sexual act.
“So, wanna go to a gangbang?” Frank asked.
If Mike hadn’t been so fucked-out, he might have fallen off the bed flailing, because what. Seriously, what. Did he actually hear that right? Did Frankie really just ask? That?
“Yes. No. I mean. What?” Mike sputtered. “Context? Or do I even want to know? Jamia didn’t warn me about this.” Seriously. What. Not that Frank hadn’t asked him to do any weird kinky shit in that realm before, it was just, sudden or something. And just what.
“You heard me. Gang. Bang. With Gerard.” Frank elaborated helpfully with waving hands. “See, we haven’t done one of those yet. And Gee seems really into the idea. And four would be more fun that three. To be the gang, I mean. More the merrier, right?”
“Oh my God. All of you guys are really actually fucking each other. You and Gerard was a no brainer, but everyone else. Well, you and. Is there anyone you’re not?” Pedicone tried to remember how to make actual sentences. “Well, I have seen Mikeyway. And fuck, Ray. Damn, okay actually, why would I even be surprised? Not like any of you were quiet. I just didn’t know you had... all. Right. And you are. You’re being serious,” Pedicone said, surprised and a little confused while completely rambling his ass off. He belatedly hoped he hadn’t said anything very offensive.
“Why wouldn’t I be serious about inviting you to a gangbang?” Frank asked, looking confused, sincerity in every word.
“Dude, have you met you, you little shit?” Pedicone laughed.
“Oh well. Point,” Frank allowed, grinning. “But you’re so there, right? Shit’s gonna be epic!”
How could Pedicone say no to that? Who could? Jesus wept. Gangbang Gerard. Fucking shit.
“Frankie, Jesus,” Pedicone was at a loss. Seriously. This wasn’t even close to fair. What would Gerard say if he just showed up to that shit? Because seriously. He wasn’t in their band-band. Not up to his balls like they all were with their history and their innuendo and togetherness. Not that he and Frank didn’t have some of that, but. He and Frank were just that. Him and Frank. Best friends who occasionally blew off some steam, who were more likely to pull pranks on each other than get naked together.
It was like they had a club, a big giant fucking-club that was sacred or something, and Pedicone didn’t want to be the shithead to fuck any of it up. He liked these guys. He loved playing with these guys. He even loved Dewees. He didn’t want to be the asshole here.
“Dude, you’re thinking too much,” Frank said, smiling fondly at him. Like he knew what Pedicone was thinking, like he could read him like he did books. Seeing and assessing the level of freakout and managing it. On some kind of tactical level. Like they were just talking about video games and not some kind of kinky orgy. Same old, same old.
“Maybe someone should,” Pedicone said, a little desperately, because he knew that if Frankie stared at him and smiled for long enough, that Pedicone would fold and say yes to whatever Frank asked. Because that was just how they were. That’s how everybody was. Nobody could say no to Frankie.
“And it was very meaningful of you and some shit, but you’re saying yes, right?” Frank’s grin was infectious.
“Well,” Pedicone waffled. He was folding.
“Say yes to the gangbang,” Frank sing-songed.
“You are gonna be insufferable about this, aren’t you? Whether I do it or not.” Pedicone stalled, feeling the last of his resolve slipping away.
“Of course! Shock and awe at my awesooome,” Frank crowed a little.
“So humble, too,” Pedicone rolled his eyes. Then quietly, muffled against his hand. “Yeah, okay.”
“What’s that? I can’t hear you over your blushing?” Frank poked at Pedicone’s arm.
“Yes, motherfucker,” Pedicone thwapped Frank with a pillow. “Now can we play video games?”
He really needed to call Jamia and complain. Couldn’t a guy get some warning about this kind of thing? It wasn’t even on the betting pool list. And now, Mike couldn’t even put it ON the list, thanks to the Gabe Saporta Rule. Damnit.
Next
Sometimes the ideas that came out of a sex-laden brain were really the best ideas ever. At least certain guitarists thought so. Maybe it was being back in America. Maybe it was because Pedicone had pulled his head out of the sand. Whatever it was, it most certainly was all Frank’s fault. And he was pretty damned proud of it.
[The Fine Art of Multi-tasking]
They finished the last song before the encores and filtered offstage, Frank taking off his soaked shirt before they’d even hit the dressing room and its beautiful pile of bottled water. Gerard made as if to go through the door, but Frank pulled him away by the arm, pushing him up against the wall by the door. The guys were talking about the set, the techs were resetting for the encore, and Frank only had eyes for Gerard, sweaty and glowing and half-hard and calmly confident, like he was after every show.
“Tell me I can fuck you tonight,” Frank muttered in his ear, and waited to see the fire flare in his eyes before continuing, “‘cause I want to push you down and make you fucking scream for me.”
“Yeah, Frankie, okay,” Gee grinned before looking around, listening to the distant chanting of the crowd. “Twist my arm, shit.”
“Good, now go sing already,” Frank smiled as Gerard nabbed another bottle of water and walked with him back to the wings, listening for the opening chords of ‘Cancer.’
It was way too long before they got back to the hotel, and they barely made it in the door before Frank was cursing at Gerard’s belt, pulling off his shoes, and practically tossing him on the nearest flat surface. Thankfully, it was the bed, but anything would have been fine, Frank would have figured that shit out. It took way too long to get rid of all the little pieces of clothing and find the lube, but by the time he did, he had his tongue down Gerard’s throat and two fingers in his ass, and they were both close to begging for it.
“Ready, fucking Christ, Frankie, need you.”
“Yeah?” Frank breathed, dashing off some lube and throwing the bottle across the room along with some socks, ignoring whatever he’d managed to knock over and possibly break in the process. He could barely remember to breathe, not with Gerard spread out, knees bent up, fucking up against him. “Been waiting, can’t, Gerard...” The syllables drew out as he slid in slow and hot and tight, and Gerard sighed, a sweet little sound like he was happy to be home after a long day. It made Frank’s throat tight, made him want more.
“The way you look at me, shit, the way you’ve been looking at me all night,” Gerard gasped out as Frank started to move, his hand drifting down to his cock. Frank caught it, caught Gerard’s other hand, and pinned him down by the wrists. He watched Gerard’s face heat up a little more, go a little more desperate, with every shallow stroke.
“No,” Frank said, by way of explanation, and deepened his thrusts until they were both moaning.
“Frankie, please, c’mon,” Gerard begged, ragged and brittle around the edges, and so beautiful with it that Frank ached. He fought against Frank’s hold on his wrists. “Close, fuckin’ touch me, god, please, please.”
“Nuh-uh. You’re gonna come for me just like this.” Frank tightened his fingers. “Know you can, wanna see it, wanna see you come on my cock.”
Gerard just shook his head, biting his lip, arms starting to shake a little.
“Yeah, you can. You’re gonna, for me.” Okay, Frank wasn’t as certain as he sounded, but it was going to be a fun ride either way.
“Hate you, fuckin’ hate what you do to me, drive me crazy,” and the words were different, but his tone was the same as when they screwed slow and sweet and made softer pleas and promises.
“I dunno, Gee, what about last month? I think you liked that pretty well,” Frank gasped, still teasing.
“Shit, Frankie, not fair,” Gerard panted, “You should have seen you.”
“You want to do it again? Wanna try gettin’ covered, like me? More?” Gerard practically squeaked, and Frank knew he had him. “We could tie you up and take turns, fuck you ‘till you’re raw and open. Covered in come. Leaking with it,” Frank pushed.
Gerard swore, his eyes drawing tightly shut. “Frankie...”
“I bet Mike would help, too. We could just keep going around until we were done, just come in you, on you, until we were fucking dry and you couldn’t see straight-- Gee, fuck, so good--” Frank pinned him hard, gave him that little bit extra and came with him over the edge, crying out together, loud and guttural.
Gerard took a minute to breathe, slowly falling away from Frank. “You cheating, cheating asshole,” he muttered, sloppy kisses to Frank’s shoulder at war with his words.
“I know,” Frank tried to sound apologetic and failed, kissing Gerard with a smile. “So. Want me to ask him?”
“Ask who?”
“Mike.”
“What! Yes. No. What!” Gerard’s brain seemed to catch up, finally. “No! Shit, Frankie. Does he even know we’re fucking?”
“Everybody knows we’re fucking, Gee.”
“No, I mean, the band.” Gerard waved his hands like he was trying to explain existentialism to a three-year-old.
“I don’t know. I mean, he could be blind and deaf,” Frank mused, kissing down Gerard’s neck. “I haven’t tweeted about it, but for all I know he’s in the betting pool somewhere.”
“You are not tweeting about it.” Gerard sounded mortified.
“The first rule of Fight Club?”
“Exactly. The third rule should be no using cheating, torture, or pillow talk to plan actual events, you asshole, but you probably threw that one out the window a long time ago.”
“Aww, Gee. You never let me have any fun,” Frank whined, brain going somewhere else entirely. He could probably arrange another orgy; hell, he’d been waiting ever since London to do that shit again. But to center it around Gee, and get Mike to join in...
“This wasn’t fun?” Gerard interrupted Frank’s planning and turned on full puppy-dog eyes, and Frank wasn’t sure whether to crack up or not. He managed to keep a straight face.
“No.” Gerard’s eyes widened, and for a moment he looked like the most horrified puppy in the world. “Baby. Fun was somewhere far, far behind that shit. Fun is in the dust.” Frank watched the relief and annoyance spread over Gerard’s face. All the way down to his arms. And his fingers. Shit. “Ow! Ow, ow, uncle, ow, please let go of my balls, fuck, leggo, mercy, ow.”
[The Angel in Question]
The phone rang. The room phone. Why the room phone was ringing, Mikey wasn’t sure. It was eight o’clock in the goddamn morning.
His asshole brother picked it up. “Gerard,” Mikey growled, and pulled the pillow over his head.
Eventually, Gerard’s weight settled back where it had been, and Mikey’s pillow got pulled away.
“Frank and Mike are going out to tour a brewery and try on cheese hats, or something.”
“Okay.” Mikey waited for news of the orphanage-and-puppy-rescue fire tornado that had better be the actual reason he was awake.
“Do you want to go?”
“No. I want to sleep. That’s why I turned my phone off.”
“I think Frankie confused us with. With people who wake up in the morning. For stupid shit.” Gerard grumbled, putting his cold nose into Mikey’s armpit.
“Why are you cold?”
“You took the covers.” Gerard sounded adorably miserable.
“You answered the phone. It was a clear forfeiture of blanket rights. C’mere,” Mikey said, throwing the comforter over both of them. They got another hour of sleep like that, tangled in each other and drooling, before Gerard moved out of bed, made some noise, and came back. “It is nine fucking thirty. We don’t have to be on the bus until two. What is wrong with you.”
“Same as always.” Gerard shrugged.
“You’re a freak.” Mikey guessed flatly.
“Close enough.”
Mikey considered. “Is that coffee?”
“Brewing. Wanna shower with me?” Gerard waited. Mikey stared, then grabbed at Gerard’s ear. “Ow, ow, the fuck.”
“Just looking for your secret freckle. Okay, you’re not pod-grown. Now, say that shit again?”
Gerard sighed and rolled his eyes. “Nothing. Nevermind.”
Mikey grinned, poking Gerard’s ear. “Frank’s been on a campaign to addict you to shower sex, and now he’s gone, huh.”
“No!” Gerard rolled away, punching a pillow sulkily. “Not necessarily.”
“Okay, I’m coming,” Mikey sighed, pushing away the covers. “But I don’t have any weird soap.”
“Frank keeps accidentally leaving his in my bag.” Gerard sounded defeated.
“Accidentally, sure.” Mikey stretched, idly scratching his balls, wondering why nobody had made coffee-flavored toothpaste. Mint was a terrible flavor to go with coffee. Shit, it was early.
The bed squeaked. Gee groaned and went to poke at the coffeemaker, bringing back a cup of something that might have resembled coffee in a past life. Mikey winced. He gave Gerard an eyebrow.
“Real coffee from room service as soon as there’s pants.” He disappeared and the shower kicked on. Mikey took a few gulps of coffee. Not as bad as it looked - Gerard must have used both filter packs. Smart. He finished the cup and ducked into the bathroom. Gerard hadn’t stepped in yet. He was just standing there, looking at the shower curtain, drinking another cup of coffee. It was pathetic. Mikey picked up his mug and set it on the bathroom counter, kissing his shoulder.
“Alright. I’m getting in the shower, and you’re following me.” He drew back the curtain, stepped in, and held out his hand. “C’mon, you wanted this.”
“Changed my mind,” Gee complained, but followed him into the bathtub anyway. Mikey grinned, popped open Frank’s soap, and started washing last night’s show off both of them.
“How do you even get this filthy?” Mikey mused, nudging Gerard under the water.
“Talent,” he replied, washing his face and grimacing. He rinsed, and Mikey stepped closer behind him, washing lower.
“Is being this hard in the morning talent, too, or has Frank just classically conditioned you to have this sort of response to his soap?” Mikey grinned and bit the back of Gerard’s neck, slippery hands lathering teasingly.
Gerard’s cock jerked in his grip. “Uhm. Both? Could be both.”
“Uh-huh. C’mere,” Mikey encouraged, and tugged on Gerard’s shoulder. He turned, and Mikey kissed him, tasting coffee and warm water from the shower. Gerard put a hand on the soap dish to steady himself, and sank down to his knees, looking up. Mikey was beginning to see what Frank liked about this, because Gerard looked gorgeous wet. The water beaded on his shoulders and made him glow, got in his eyelashes and made them look even darker and longer. Gerard’s mouth was always endlessly distracting, but especially when it was around Mikey’s dick. Mikey hadn’t been all the way hard yet, but Gerard sucked until Mikey filled his mouth and hand. “Mmm. Morning,” Mikey groaned, content.
Gerard pulled off, smacking his lips. “Morning.” He smiled and tugged at Mikey’s ankle until Mikey lifted his foot, and Gerard put it on the bathtub ledge. “Yeah.”
Mikey sighed when he got Gerard’s mouth back, and felt his fingers tucked warm behind his balls. He brushed a strand of hair out of Gerard’s eyes, gasping as Gerard swallowed him down further and pressed a fingertip inside him. It wasn’t long until Mikey was gasping and cursing, putting an arm against the tile to steady himself, and Gerard was looking up again, replacing his mouth with his hand.
“What do you want, Mikey?” Gerard asked, low and only just loud enough to hear over the shower, and Mikey’s brain fused, because he knew Gerard meant it. He could ask for anything.
“I want... fuck.” Mikey bit off, trying to breathe, working at the idea of wanting to do anything besides fuck Gerard’s fist and come staring at the open hunger written on his face, raw and predatory. He casted about for the dozen thoughts he’d had before seeing his brother on his knees, finally seizing on one that had come up a few times. “I want you to bend me over this counter, so I can see us in the mirror.” Mikey realized that he wanted it even more now that he’d heard it out loud.
Gerard bit his lip. “Fuck, yeah.” Gerard stood, turning off the water, and got them both towels. Mikey busied himself with drying off, and Gerard finished his mug of coffee and disappeared for a minute, and by the time Mikey had hung up his towel, he was back, holding a bottle of lube and smiling roguishly. He was clean and awake, seconds away from fucking Mikey and they had at least three hours before they had to go anywhere. Mikey smiled, too.
He stole the lube out of Gerard’s hand before he had a chance to register what was going on, and kissed up Gerard’s jaw. It was good enough, as distractions go, and Mikey managed to get the lube open and onto his fingers without having to bite Gerard’s neck too hard. Good. He hated leaving hickeys on tour, although Gee always seemed to enjoy picking out the most ridiculous “camouflage” for them he could find. Paint, feather boas, sharpie. Freak. Mikey grinned and leaned up to kiss him, pressing his lips into soft swollen ones, and reached back, fingering himself deep until he was moaning into the kiss, and Gerard broke off to look. Then his face changed, and Mikey smiled, a thrill of victory chasing through his belly. That was the best face. Confusion melting into blank shock, then hot lust, all in a second. It always made Mikey shiver when he managed that kind of reaction, and he did now, biting his lip to keep from moaning.
“God. Mikey. You should see you.” Gerard’s eyes were dark, heated.
“Yeah?” Mikey curved his fingers, biting off a gasp, teasing Gerard with his pleasure.
“Yeah. Look.”
Mikey turned to look in the mirror, still steamed up at the top, and there were Gerard’s eyes, focused on Mikey’s reflection. Hard lines of pale skin, flushed with pleasure. Head tilted back, back arched, fingers angled deep and thumb braced against the curve of his own ass. Mikey had to admit he looked pretty good, and made a faint noise of surprised approval. Gerard’s eyes flashed. His gaze never leaving the mirror, Gee wrapped his hand around Mikey’s wrist and pressed, encouraging him to fuck himself a little harder, and Mikey moaned.
“Look so damn good for me,” Gerard sighed, mouthing Mikey’s neck, letting go of his wrist in favor of grabbing onto his hips. Mikey took the hint, sliding off his fingers. He grabbed the lube, getting some into his palm and working it onto Gerard’s cock. Gerard turned them both until he had Mikey bent over the counter, both of them grinning wolfishly into the mirror.
“C’mon,” Mikey wiggled, propping himself up on folded arms.
“Impatient, god. Couldn’t even wait for me to open you up,” Gerard murmured, but sounded pleased as he slid his cock against Mikey’s ass.
“That a problem?” Mikey challenged, giving their reflections a devious look as he lifted his hips.
“No problem here,” Gerard shook his head at the mirror, and looked away briefly, guiding his cock into Mikey’s tight heat with teasing nudges before he paused, about halfway in. Mikey reminded himself not to close his eyes, not to lose himself in the stretched-full pleasure that skated up his spine. It was worth it, to see Gerard with his head thrown back, jaw gone loose in a soundless gasp. Mikey had done that, made him look like that, overwhelmed him. It felt good to see, and Mikey’s cock jumped a little against his belly.
Gerard’s hands tightened on Mikey’s waist, and his eyes opened again as he slid the rest of the way in. They both groaned, and Gee gave a smile, stilling for just an instant before moving again, the slow hot drag of his cock against Mikey’s prostate making him see stars.
“Aw, fuck,” Mikey panted, pushing back against Gerard on the next stroke, encouraging.
“Yeah,” Gee sighed, voice low and filthy. His hair was still a little wet, he had a tiny shade of stubble, and Mikey would never say it out loud, but he looked like an angel, quietly rapturous and so beautiful it hurt. For the briefest second, Mikey was afraid he had said it out loud, because Gerard’s eyes snapped to his in the mirror, but Gee just kept smiling.
“Do you always look this smug when you’re fucking me?” Mikey teased, an edge of suspicion in his voice.
“Maybe,” Gerard bit his lip and sped up a little, the quiet slap of flesh-on-flesh bouncing off the tiled walls. He lifted his chin at the mirror, leaning in to grab Mikey’s dick. “Do we always look this good?”
“Fuckin’ hot,” Mikey moaned helplessly, watching Gerard lick his lips. “Wanna see us come.” Gerard fell into a good rhythm, fucking deep into Mikey and jerking him with a tight hand, and Mikey was abruptly certain that it wouldn’t be long, he couldn’t hold off. He could feel it making his mouth water, his eyes squeeze shut, and his fingers close tight over his forearms.
His awareness snapped back into place when Gerard let go of Mikey’s waist with his other hand, and firmly pulled Mikey’s hair into his fist, tilting his head back.
“Keep your eyes open,” Gerard said, a rusty voice over panting breaths. Mikey’s spine was bowed, his thighs shook with need, and Gerard’s eyes drilled into him. Mikey needed just a little more, just a little harder, just a little something, he was so goddamn close. He couldn’t find the words, just a breathless whine, pleading with his eyes, and that was enough. Gerard slammed into him hard, coming with a grunt that could have been Mikey’s name, and Mikey shot his load under the sink with a cry. He just managed to keep his eyes open to a blurry, white-at-the-edges vision of his brother with a crimson halo, breathing curses like prayers.
The angel in question slumped on Mikey like a ton of bricks.
“Nnngh.”
“Mmm,” Mikey replied. He gave it a few moments, then milked Gerard’s softening cock inside him, grinning as he got a muffled squawk in response. He squeezed again. “Guess what.”
“What.”
“There’s a bed.”
“You’re shittin’ me,” Gee said dryly, still not moving.
“If you don’t believe that one, you’re gonna love this one,” Mikey said, wiggling until Gerard moved.
“Mmm?” Gerard picked up a washcloth, threw it at the sink, turned on a tap.
“We can sleep like two more hours.” Mikey grabbed the cloth, wrung it out, cleaned them off.
“Fuck. That’s the second-hottest thing you’ve said all morning,” Gerard said, tossing the washcloth back in the sink and turning off the bathroom light.
“Do I even want to know? If you say the pod-grown thing, we’re never having sex again,” Mikey grumbled, shoving Gerard back towards the bed.
“I dunno,” Gerard said airily, pretending to consider. “You really think I look like an angel, Mikes?” Gerard grinned cheekily.
“I did not,” Mikey groaned in disbelief, flopping on the bed and planting his face in a pillow.
“You so did!”
“Never. Having sex. Again.” Mikey reminded, trying to look serious while Gerard pulled him in to spoon.
“Hmm. I doubt you’ll be able to resist my charm.” Gerard kissed behind Mikey’s ear.
“G’head, test that theory.” Mikey pulled Gee’s arm up to his chest, cuddled like it was a teddy bear. “Schmuck.”
“Angel,” Gerard corrected, and they slept.
[Drummers Need Love Too]
“Frankie?” Pedicone didn’t mean to make it a question, not with the way Frank had him pinned against the hotel room door. He knew what the fuck was up, especially with Frank’s denim covered hard-on pushing into his hip.
“Hi,” Frank chirped, grinning like a motherfucker, eyes dark.
“I thought when you said we were gonna play video games, I’d heard the innuendo correctly,” Mike mused, grinding back.
“Well, video games are still on the menu,” Frank smirked, “but first,” his voice trailed off as he started to reach for the zipper of Pedicone’s jeans.
“How ‘bout a little less in the hallway?” Pedicone asked. Hell, he’d go naked on stage, but his mom would kick his ass if he got caught having sex in a hallway of a hotel in front of God and everybody.
“Aw, gonna be all shy, Mike?” Frank teased.
“Call me shy again and I won’t suck your dick,” Pedicone said seriously. “I’ve just got some standards, you little shit.”
“Right,” Frank winked, but he opened the door even as he started climbing on Mike and let Pedicone half-drag, half-carry him into the room, leaving a trail of clothes in their wake.
Mike practically tossed Frank onto the nearest bed and Frankie giggled, watching appreciatively as Pedicone slid off his pants and underwear and climbed onto the bed, stealing a kiss.
He broke off the kiss and started licking his way down Frank’s chest, stopping to tease a nipple with his teeth. Frank squirmed and started talking shit.
“Mike,” he moaned, “Shit.” Mike tweaked Frank’s other nipple with his fingers.
“Hmmm?” Pedicone hummed.
“Not that,” Frank panted, “I don’t apprec-hnn- appreciate what you’re doing.”
Mike sucked a sweet little bruise on Frank’s side, kissing the skin afterward.
“Oh. Fuck.” Frank moaned. “But.”
Pedicone sucked a matching hickey on the other side.
“Sh-it,” Frank panted, hips bucking. “Not that I’m not enjoying myself. But, you could suck my cock, anytime.”
Pedicone glanced up at Frank, and then at Frank’s hard, leaking dick, his hands resting on Frank’s belly, and said helpfully, “Oh, this cock, here?”
“Oh, you shithead,” Frank muttered, trying to wiggle closer to Mike’s hands, but Mike held him still. “Yes, you asshole. That cock.”
“You know, Frank,” Pedicone said conversationally.
“Asshole,” Frank answered, catching on to where Mike was going with this.
“You’re being kind of a little shit to the person you want to suck your cock,” Mike shrugged, tweaking a nipple.
“Mike,” Frank whined.
“What do you say, Frankie?” Pedicone asked, smiling fiendishly.
“Motherfucker, please,” Frank gasped as Mike’s fingers brushed against his cock and lightly, teasingly began to stroke.
“Please what?” Pedicone asked, smearing precome with his thumb.
“Mike,” Frank gasped.
“Say it,” Pedicone said placidly.
“Aw, hell. Please suck my cock, you incredible goddamn asshole,” Frank groaned, hips bucking as Pedicone teased Frank’s balls.
“Well, since you asked,” Pedicone smirked and then licked down Frank’s cock, tongue teasing the underside.
“Oh fuck fuck fuck, shit, fuck,” Frank babbled, trying to thrust up, his hand on the top of Mike’s head, clinging. “Mike. Jesus. Your mouth. Oh. Shit.”
Pedicone held Frank down as he swallowed down the base and back up. He sucked, tongue teasing the slit and the vein until Frank was a mess of fucked-out babbling and gasps.
“Nnnnngg, Shit, fuck fuck fuck,” Frank moaned, desperate. “Oh God. So good. Cl-close.”
Mike pulled off and Frank squawked.
“What are you even doing? I want that back,” Frank groaned. “Fuck you. Evil. Asshole.”
“Well, you’re just gonna have to wait, aren’tcha,” Pedicone said, enjoying himself immensely. “Turn over and up.”
“Teasing asshole,” Frank muttered, but he was grinning and obeyed. He waggled his ass at Mike.
“You’re so fuckin’ mouthy,” Pedicone tsked, voice low and filthy.
“That’s Ray’s complaint, usually,” Frank snarked.
“I bet he likes you like this too, huh?” Pedicone asked, spreading Frank with his thumbs. Frank stilled as Mike’s fingers teased, close to Frank’s asshole. “All spread out and eager with your pink, pretty little hole?”
“Mike,” Frank’s breath caught. Maybe he wasn’t used to being this objectified. Pedicone was absurdly proud of knocking him off his game. “What.”
Before Frank could finish the question, Pedicone leaned in and licked all the way down Frank’s crack, stopping at the tight hole, teasing with the tip of his tongue.
“Oh! Oh Jesus,” Frank moaned, spouting a string of curses that trailed off into moans as Pedicone pressed his tongue flat and wet against the heat of delicate skin. He felt Frank twitch against his mouth and traced circles, enjoying what it was like to get Frank past the point of speech. He opened Frank up with his tongue, swirling inside, stretching, taking his time to drive Frank insane.
By the sound of it, it was working. “Mike,” Frank keened, moaning, fists mangling the sheets. “Fuck. Fuck me. Shit. Christ. Mike. Fuck me. Come on.”
Mike hummed twice, a muffled “uh-uh,” and kept licking, fucking Frank with his tongue, opening him up wet and messy and hot.
“Mike,” Frank panted. “Please.” Frank’s voice broke, drawing the word into two syllables. It was a nice sound. Mike hummed, again, feeling smug, and pressed one last kiss to Frank’s hole, relaxed and fluttering under his lips, then pulled back so he could reach the lube out of his bag.
“Jesusfuck,” Frank groaned, resting on his elbows a minute, ass still in the air.
“Yeah, I liked that too,” Pedicone said, uncapping the lube and slicking his fingers and sighed appreciatively at the slide of the first finger, quickly adding a second. “Fuck, you make the best noises.”
“Amazing asshole,” Frank muttered, pushing back against his fingers. “More. Hurry. Fuck, now.”
“Impatient little fucker,” Pedicone retorted, twisting and tucking in a third finger, getting a groan when he hit Frank just right.
“Damn right,” Frank moaned. “C’mon.”
“Well, alright,” Pedicone purred, removing his hand, lubing up his cock and pushing in in one slow, deliberate movement. “Hot and tight for me, Frankie. I love seeing you like this, all fucked out from my mouth and beggin’ for it.”
Pedicone slid out and back in, appreciating the glide and Frank rocked back, moaning. He started building a rhythm and Frank moaned louder. He reached around and jacked Frank’s cock in time with his thrusts. Frank was just a mess of babbling curses, shouting Mike’s name as he came all over Mike’s hand.
Mike just lasted a few more thrusts before he came. He couldn’t last with Frank clenching around him. He slumped half on Frank and half propped on an arm. He slid out with a hiss and Frank collapsed in a smiling heap onto the bed.
“I guess that means I get the washcloth,” Pedicone said, wondering if he could stand yet.
“Yep, the teasing asshole gets the washcloth,” Frank confirmed.
“Spoken like someone who’d know,” Pedicone observed and pulled himself up, obediently getting something to clean them both up. Should’ve just used a sheet. Oh, well.
Less sticky, they ended up spooning, mostly under the sheet on Pedicone’s bed.
“So,” Frank started, and how he still could manage thought after that, Pedicone had no idea. But that was Frankie. Frankie was inexplicable. Always seven different directions at once. Climbing shit he shouldn’t, fucking with people’s drums. Generally being an adorable little asshole. Post-coital verbalization really shouldn’t surprise Pedicone by now.
“So?” Pedicone asked, too blissed-out to care what could possibly come out of Frankie’s mouth. Hell, Frank could ask him to put on a cheese head again and he’d do that, no problem. Along with any number of other completely random things, in a heartbeat. It was part of their best friend code, which included the wearing of stupid hats, nearly missing bus call, and the occasional really filthy sexual act.
“So, wanna go to a gangbang?” Frank asked.
If Mike hadn’t been so fucked-out, he might have fallen off the bed flailing, because what. Seriously, what. Did he actually hear that right? Did Frankie really just ask? That?
“Yes. No. I mean. What?” Mike sputtered. “Context? Or do I even want to know? Jamia didn’t warn me about this.” Seriously. What. Not that Frank hadn’t asked him to do any weird kinky shit in that realm before, it was just, sudden or something. And just what.
“You heard me. Gang. Bang. With Gerard.” Frank elaborated helpfully with waving hands. “See, we haven’t done one of those yet. And Gee seems really into the idea. And four would be more fun that three. To be the gang, I mean. More the merrier, right?”
“Oh my God. All of you guys are really actually fucking each other. You and Gerard was a no brainer, but everyone else. Well, you and. Is there anyone you’re not?” Pedicone tried to remember how to make actual sentences. “Well, I have seen Mikeyway. And fuck, Ray. Damn, okay actually, why would I even be surprised? Not like any of you were quiet. I just didn’t know you had... all. Right. And you are. You’re being serious,” Pedicone said, surprised and a little confused while completely rambling his ass off. He belatedly hoped he hadn’t said anything very offensive.
“Why wouldn’t I be serious about inviting you to a gangbang?” Frank asked, looking confused, sincerity in every word.
“Dude, have you met you, you little shit?” Pedicone laughed.
“Oh well. Point,” Frank allowed, grinning. “But you’re so there, right? Shit’s gonna be epic!”
How could Pedicone say no to that? Who could? Jesus wept. Gangbang Gerard. Fucking shit.
“Frankie, Jesus,” Pedicone was at a loss. Seriously. This wasn’t even close to fair. What would Gerard say if he just showed up to that shit? Because seriously. He wasn’t in their band-band. Not up to his balls like they all were with their history and their innuendo and togetherness. Not that he and Frank didn’t have some of that, but. He and Frank were just that. Him and Frank. Best friends who occasionally blew off some steam, who were more likely to pull pranks on each other than get naked together.
It was like they had a club, a big giant fucking-club that was sacred or something, and Pedicone didn’t want to be the shithead to fuck any of it up. He liked these guys. He loved playing with these guys. He even loved Dewees. He didn’t want to be the asshole here.
“Dude, you’re thinking too much,” Frank said, smiling fondly at him. Like he knew what Pedicone was thinking, like he could read him like he did books. Seeing and assessing the level of freakout and managing it. On some kind of tactical level. Like they were just talking about video games and not some kind of kinky orgy. Same old, same old.
“Maybe someone should,” Pedicone said, a little desperately, because he knew that if Frankie stared at him and smiled for long enough, that Pedicone would fold and say yes to whatever Frank asked. Because that was just how they were. That’s how everybody was. Nobody could say no to Frankie.
“And it was very meaningful of you and some shit, but you’re saying yes, right?” Frank’s grin was infectious.
“Well,” Pedicone waffled. He was folding.
“Say yes to the gangbang,” Frank sing-songed.
“You are gonna be insufferable about this, aren’t you? Whether I do it or not.” Pedicone stalled, feeling the last of his resolve slipping away.
“Of course! Shock and awe at my awesooome,” Frank crowed a little.
“So humble, too,” Pedicone rolled his eyes. Then quietly, muffled against his hand. “Yeah, okay.”
“What’s that? I can’t hear you over your blushing?” Frank poked at Pedicone’s arm.
“Yes, motherfucker,” Pedicone thwapped Frank with a pillow. “Now can we play video games?”
He really needed to call Jamia and complain. Couldn’t a guy get some warning about this kind of thing? It wasn’t even on the betting pool list. And now, Mike couldn’t even put it ON the list, thanks to the Gabe Saporta Rule. Damnit.
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